The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  She could not allow ignorance or prejudice to stand in the way of something that benefited her father. So it was the case that, even as Ivy read the message from the Citadel, she knew that they could not remove Mr. Lockwell from Madstone’s—not when there was hope the treatments would continue to help him.

  Mr. Quent had agreed with her decision. As difficult as it was, her feelings were assuaged by the knowledge that they still possessed the petition signed by the king, and it had no expiry. If she ever felt the treatment was no longer helping her father, or that he was being harmed, then she would remove him from the hostel at once. In the meantime, Ivy was beginning to really hope it would be science that would at last undo the ill that magick had afflicted upon Mr. Lockwell, and restore him fully to his senses.

  Her father was not the only one whose condition had improved. Mr. Quent had seemed in high spirits ever since his return to the city. He often smiled, and even laughed at times, and kissed Ivy at what seemed like every opportunity. What was more, he had been especially indulgent of Ivy’s sisters; anything they expressed a wish for was theirs, to the point where Ivy no longer feared they might be spoiled, but was rather convinced of it.

  The night of his return to Invarel, when they at last were alone together in their chamber, Mr. Quent had told her that he had accomplished all that he could in Torland. Ivy could not help being curious about what he had done in his time in the far west, and if any of it had involved Lady Shayde, but she did not ask him about it. For all the confidences that existed between married beings, there were other oaths that bound him—namely those to the Crown. Besides, if there was something she needed to know, and it was within his power to tell her, then he would do so. Until then, she would not bother him like a gossipy wife.

  For a while after his return, Mr. Quent spent many more hours with Ivy and her sisters than they were accustomed to, and they enjoyed his increased presence immensely. He read aloud to Ivy in the upstairs gallery, and listened thoughtfully to Lily play the pianoforte, and even let Rose use his hands for a loom as she wound skeins of yarn.

  Recently, that situation had changed, and now he was at the Citadel even more often than before. Of course, that was only to be expected after the loss of the lord inquirer. Nor could Ivy complain, for when Mr. Quent was at home, his attention remained devoted to her and her sisters. Indeed, he seemed intent upon spending every moment he possibly could with them, and in their brief span of time together, Ivy had never known him to be so tender and affectionate.

  Now Ivy sighed and pressed her cheek against the smooth bark of a birch tree. It seemed awful of her that she should be happy when so many others endured such sorrow. Every time she opened a broadsheet, she read of people in the country who suffered deprivation and uncertainty. Not that she had to look far afield for people who had suffered. Poor Mr. Rafferdy! And poor Mr. Quent as well. The former had lost his father, and the latter his master and friend. What was more, in losing the lord inquirer, she suspected the nation of Altania had been deprived of one of its staunchest defenders.

  No, she was sure of it.

  Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Ivy shivered. Even now, in this idyllic place drenched in sunlight, she felt a chill when she recalled what Lord Rafferdy had told her that day at the house on Durrow Street: the cave deep in the southern deserts of the Empire, and the fate that befell, one by one, all who entered that lightless and ancient place. She had written to Mr. Rafferdy the next day, describing for him her conversation with his father, and she hoped they would soon be able to discuss it in person. There had been no opportunity to do so when she and Mr. Quent were at Asterlane.

  At least she did not have to bear the awful knowledge alone, for almost as soon as he arrived in the city, she had told Mr. Quent everything: how she had encountered the man in the black mask, how he had told her to go to the house on Durrow Street, and how she met Lord Rafferdy there. When she was finished, she had shown Mr. Quent the small piece of Wyrdwood that Lord Rafferdy had given her. He had not known what it might be, only that if her father had charged Lord Rafferdy with its care, then it must be important.

  Did you know about the curse? she had asked her husband as they lay together in bed that night, aching too much for each other’s company to allow themselves to sleep.

  I suppose I did know something of it, he had said, his voice a low rumble. That is, I knew they had discovered some terrible thing in a cave in the desert. I knew it was because of what befell them there that my father grew ill, and then the others. Though for all these years I have not known what it was they found inside the cave—not until you told me just now.

  Again Ivy shivered; it seemed the light of the sun had gone thin, as if veiled by a cloud. She slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress, and her fingers found the small, smooth bit of wood. Perhaps it was because it had once belonged to her father, but ever since Lord Rafferdy had given her the object, she had kept it near to her.

  Or perhaps there was another reason she had kept it close. For even as she touched it, the sunlight grew warm and bright again, and the murmurings of the trees seemed to become a little louder.…

  “Lady Quent, there you are!”

  Ivy gasped and turned around, pulling her hand from her pocket. As she did, Lord Eubrey stepped into view from between a pair of birches.

  “I thought we’d quite lost you,” he said, then smiled. “And perhaps we did at that. For I say, you look very content!”

  Now that her momentary shock had passed, Ivy could not help smiling in return. Lord Eubrey’s expressions of cheer were every bit as contagious as they were frequent.

  “How could I not be content? For I cannot imagine a more serene place.”

  He gave a shrug. “I will have to take you at your word. As you know, I utterly lack your and Lady Crayford’s sensibility. I believe she brings me along solely because if I think a thing is worth looking at, then it must have no artistic value whatsoever, and so she knows not to paint it.”

  “I am sure that’s not true!”

  “On the contrary, it’s terribly true. Just as it’s true she wishes for you to come along because she knows that if your eye finds a thing intriguing, then there must be something of worth in it.”

  Ivy would not be accused of possessing abilities she did not. “I know very little of art! I only say what I think.”

  “Precisely. As most people say what they believe others think, that makes you a very rare and precious commodity, Lady Quent! And one that the rest of our party are wanting for. They wondered where you had gone and so headed off in all directions, looking hither and thither for you. However, once I saw this patch of trees, I knew at once to look for you here.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Why, you have an affinity for trees. If we come near any in our ramblings, you are ever drawn to them—at least your gaze is, if not the whole of yourself. I am sure you are quite taken up with trees!”

  A chime of alarm sounded within Ivy. For a moment she felt as she did when she was eight years old, standing by the New Ash in Lorring Park as the priest called out to her.

  She did her best to make her tone light. “I suppose I do like them, for they are very picturesque.”

  He laughed. “Like them? On the contrary, you are quite smitten with them! Nor is there any reason to deny it. I have no doubt that if I liked looking at trees and prospects rather than at sleek horses and fast carriages, then I would be both a better and a richer man.”

  Unlike the priest all those years ago, Ivy detected no hint of suspicion in his words or on his face. All the same, she found she no longer wished to be among the trees.

  “I am sorry I caused a commotion,” she said. “We had better return to the others at once.”

  He offered his arm, and together they made their way from the grove. As they started across the field beyond, Ivy caught sight of a man in a blue coat waving at them.

  “I believe Captain Branfort has seen us,” she said.
r />   “I’m sure he has. I’ve never met a man with keener eyes.”

  “Then it is good he is with us.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m glad his duties allow him to accompany us on occasion. And it is good that Colonel Daubrent and your friend—Mrs. Baydon, is it?—have taken him in. Goodness knows he could use a bit of congenial society. Poor old Branfort!”

  Ivy shook her head. “What do you mean, ‘Poor old Branfort’? Twenty-seven is hardly old! And I can think of no reason to call him poor.” She thought of something Mr. Rafferdy had said once. “He is not so lacking in height.”

  This seemed to bemuse Lord Eubrey. “Height? No, I was not making a reference to his stature. He’s a good-looking fellow, and handsome adds half a head. Rather, his deficit is one of companionship.”

  “Companionship? But as you said, he has made the acquaintance of the colonel as well as Mrs. Baydon, and they cannot be his only society. I am sure such an agreeable man must have a number of friends.”

  “Must he?” Eubrey gazed across the field. “A military man moves about a great deal. I have not known him for long, but from my conversations with the captain I gather that he has less often been stationed at a lively place such as Point Caravel and more often at remote forts and outposts, ones that housed few men of comparable rank.”

  Ivy could only concede that, depending on where he was stationed, it might be difficult for an officer to find appropriate society, and there was no Mrs. Branfort.

  “What of his family? Surely they must provide Captain Branfort with some companionship.”

  Lord Eubrey looked down at her. “His family? But don’t you know about Captain Branfort’s family, Lady Quent?”

  “No, he has never spoken of them that I’ve heard.”

  “For good reason. You see, his family settled at Marlstown.”

  Ivy could not hide her horror. “Marlstown?”

  Lord Eubrey nodded, his face solemn. They walked more slowly now, and Ivy tried to comprehend this revelation. While the New Lands were thought to be vast, the Altanian colonies were limited to the islands situated off the western coast. To date, all attempts to establish a permanent colony on the shores of the main continent had failed.

  The most recent of these attempts had been at Marlstown. A colony of three hundred souls was founded there over twenty-five years ago. According to a missive from the founders carried by one of the ships on its return voyage to Altania, the new colony was thriving. The land was fertile, the climate mild, and contact had been made with the nearby aboriginals, who were found to be curious and peaceable.

  After that, no more missives ever came from the colony.

  When at last an Altanian navy ship was able to sail down the coast to Marlstown half a year later, they discovered a terrible scene. The stockade that housed the colony had been burned to the ground, as had all the surrounding houses. There had been no sign of any of the colonists. Nor, when the men explored away from the coast, had they found any of the aboriginals. Instead, they had come upon only empty campsites.

  The men attempted to go deeper inland but soon found themselves rebuffed by the deviously thick forest that covered the land in all directions. In the years that followed, several more ships went to Marlstown in an attempt to learn what had happened to the colony. However, no clue as to the fate of the colonists was ever found.

  There had been rumors, though. Ivy remembered hearing some of them when she was small: how a navy lieutenant had returned stark mad from an expedition along that section of the New Lands coast, and had raved about a bottomless lake whose shores were strewn with skeletons but no skulls. And how the captain of a trader ship, blown ashore near Marlstown by a storm, had encountered a wizened aboriginal man who had told him not to venture into the forest “lest the spirits there take his head.”

  Ivy supposed these were no more than stories fabricated by people fascinated with a terrible and inexplicable incident. In subsequent expeditions, no such lake had ever been discovered, and no native people were encountered in the vicinity. All the same, in the years since the destruction at Marlstown, there had not been any other attempts to establish a settlement on the mainland of the new continent. The forest was too vast and impenetrable, it was said, and the natives there too hostile.

  “I don’t understand,” Ivy said at last when she found her voice. “How did he survive what occurred at Marlstown?”

  “He was not there,” Lord Eubrey said. “I learned about it all from Colonel Daubrent. Captain Branfort was sickly as an infant, having been born too soon, and did not make the journey with his parents. Instead, he was left with a distant relative who planned to send him over when he grew stronger. Of course, that never happened. Though later, Captain Branfort did indeed go to the New Lands, during the campaign at Aratuga.”

  Aratuga was one of the island colonies, a place where much sugar and rum were produced, and so of great value. Among the southern islands were several corsair states that had broken away from the Empire in decades past. One of these had attempted to gain control of Aratuga some years ago, but had been defeated by Altanian forces.

  Lord Eubrey quickened his pace. “Come, Lady Quent, I can see the others are waiting for us. And if you would, don’t mention to Captain Branfort that I told you of his history.”

  “I would never think of it!” she exclaimed.

  To speak of such things could only bring up the most distressing memories, and that was something Ivy would never want to do. Lord Eubrey nodded, but he said nothing more, for by then they had come upon the rest of their little party.

  “There now, I should have known it would be you who would find her, Eubrey!” Colonel Daubrent said, taking several long strides toward them. “But no doubt you had an unfair advantage, and used some sort of magick to deduce her whereabouts.”

  Lord Eubrey affected an aggrieved expression. “On the contrary, I did nothing of the sort!” He made a deliberate gesture with his right hand, so that the blue gem of his House ring caught the sunlight.

  “Well, however you found her, we are grateful,” Captain Branfort said. “Though I wonder what we did to drive you away, Lady Quent. I hope you didn’t find our company tedious.”

  “Of course she found it tedious!” Lady Crayford exclaimed. She wore a gown the color of periwinkles that brought out the violet hues in her eyes. “How could she not find it so? I was fussing over my painting, while you men were speaking of guns and dogs and all manner of topics a woman of any measure of sensibility would find dreadful. It’s a wonder Lord Eubrey was able to convince her to come back to us. But now that you have, Lady Quent, you must tell me what you think of my painting.”

  She took Ivy’s hand and led her to her easel. Ivy gazed upon it with great wonder and delight. It was as if the sunlight itself had somehow been condensed into a kind of pigment, which the viscountess had then applied to the canvas in bold strokes.

  “It’s beautiful!” Ivy said, or rather gasped.

  “I had not thought it to be particularly good.” The viscountess gazed, not at the canvas, but at Ivy. “Yet I know that your eye is excellent, and that you are capable of speaking only truth, so I must concede there is some worth in the composition. Still, I do not believe you have spoken the entire truth. There is something amiss with it—I can see it in your expression. Do not deny it, Lady Quent, for I am as discerning of faces as you are of country scenes!”

  So addressed, Ivy could only nod. “Yes, but it is the littlest thing. The birch trees on the left are lovely, but you have made them somewhat too perfect, I think. They are more crooked in life, and they lean a bit to one side.”

  Captain Branfort peered at the canvas, then regarded the distant prospect. “I believe she may be right.”

  “Of course she’s right, Branfort!” Lord Eubrey said with a laugh. “I am quite sure Lady Quent is an expert on trees.”

  “I am nothing of the sort!” Ivy said, and felt her cheeks glowing.

  “Do not protest, Lady Quent, for
modesty when it is false is no virtue,” Lady Crayford said, misunderstanding the source of Ivy’s discomfort. “You are exactly right. I had felt there was something wrong with that side of the canvas, only I did not know what it was. I see now that I was painting the trees how I thought they should be, rather than how they are. Yet as ever, the imperfect is more fascinating than the idealized. For though the scene is tranquil now, the leaning of the trees speaks of winds that have blown at other times, and will surely blow again. I shall change them at once.”

  At this Colonel Daubrent shook his head. “Must you change them, sister? I rather like the trees the way they are.”

  “You mean all standing straight in a row like good soldiers?” Lord Eubrey said, his eyes sparkling. “You would make a regiment of them if you could, and have them march all about on your order.”

  “Now you’re speaking nonsense, Eubrey,” Colonel Daubrent said, a scowl darkening his handsome face, “as you so often do. A grove of trees can hardly march here and there.”

  Lord Eubrey smiled, though it seemed a rather sly expression. “Oh, they can’t?”

  The sunlight seemed to go white around Ivy. She was suddenly too warm, and the moist air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle, was cloying.

  “Lady Quent, are you well? You look very flushed of a sudden.”

  She blinked and saw Captain Branfort before her. He took her arm, steadying her.

  Ivy managed what she hoped was a light tone. “I’m sorry. I think perhaps I walked too far, that’s all.”

  “Glory above, Eubrey!” Daubrent exclaimed. “What were you thinking, dragging her all the way across the field like that?”

  Ivy tried to protest, and to tell them it was hardly Lord Eubrey’s fault that she had ventured off across the fields. Only, it was difficult to breathe. She let Captain Branfort lead her to one of the chairs they had set up, and he dutifully held her parasol to shade her while the colonel brought her a cup of wine.